The Blossoming Universe of Violet Diamond
Page 1
ALSO BY BRENDA WOODS
Saint Louis Armstrong Beach
A Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame
My Name Is Sally Little Song
Emako Blue
The Red Rose Box
brenda woods
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Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Woods.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Woods, Brenda (Brenda A.)
The blossoming universe of Violet Diamond / Brenda Woods.
pages cm
Summary: “A biracial girl finally gets the chance to meet the African American side of her family”—Provided by publisher.
[1. Racially mixed people—Fiction. 2. African Americans—Fiction. 3. Families—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.W86335Bl 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013024241
ISBN 978-1-101-58501-6
Chapter opener art courtesy of IZO/ Shutterstock.com.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Version_1
In loving memory of my brother—Arthur Preston Woods, Jr.
Contents
ALSO BY BRENDA WOODS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
1: THE PUZZLING UNIVERSE OF VIOLET DIAMOND
2: A PREDICTABLE SUMMER OF BORING NOTHING
3: SOMETIMES I WISH
4: INTRODUCING VIOLET DIAMOND’S KITTEN
5: DAISY’S LI’L SIS
6: A BEGINNING
7: ANOTHER WISH COMES TRUE
8: NOT EXACTLY WHAT I WAS EXPECTING
9: THE UNIVERSE OF VIOLET DIAMOND TAKES A SWERVE
10: TRUTH AND TEARS
11: A WEEK OF WAITING
12: MORE SLOW MOTION
13: AFRICA
14: SEATTLE, HERE WE COME
15: IN SEATTLE
16: MEET ROXANNE DIAMOND
17: BAD WISHES
18: ANOTHER SWERVE
19: MY TURN
20: SOONER THAN I THOUGHT
21: COUNTDOWN
22: FINALLY
23: SHOPPING
24: AIRPORTS AND AIRPLANES
25: BIBI
26: LOS ANGELES
27: A STREET LINED WITH PALM TREES
28: A MILLION MILES FROM HOME
29: THE SUNDAY MORNING PARTY
30: THE DIAMOND FAMILY SUNDAY FEAST
31: EAVESDROPPING AGAIN
32: A DAY AT DISNEYLAND
33: HOLLYWOOD
34: THE MISSING DIAMOND
35: THE MASHED POTATOES
36: THE BLUES
37: AHMED’S HOOD AND MARINA DEL REY
38: BRAIDS
39: THE DREAM BOOK
40: MY DADDY’S GRAVE
41: THE ROOMS INSIDE A HEART
42: WAKE UP
43: A TEMPORARY GOOD-BYE
44: BACK TO MOON LAKE
45: VIOLET THE DIAMOND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PRAISE FOR BRENDA WOODS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
THE PUZZLING UNIVERSE OF VIOLET DIAMOND
Did you ever have a dream that’s so good, you wish you could save it forever instead of having it go back to that place in your mind where dreams become quieter than whispers, quiet like snowflakes falling?
And it’s such an awesome dream that makes you so happy that right after you wake up, you rush to write it down because you can’t just let it evaporate into nothing?
Did you ever have a dream like that? Last night, I did.
In my dream I was walking along one of those picture-perfect beaches you see in vacation ads, where seals sunbathe on rocks and tropical fish swim in see-through-blue water. In the distance, dolphins leaped from the ocean, and even though it was daytime and the sun was shining bright, a crescent moon hung in the sky. My mom was on one side, my dad on the other, holding my hands. Daisy, my older sister, was walking ahead of us. In my dream we all looked alike, same skin, same hair, same big white teeth that gleam when we smile.
Barefoot people walked by us on the beach and smiled. Everyone could tell, just by looking at us, we were a family. There were no question marks in their eyes, no looks on their faces that remind me of puzzles with missing pieces, no under-the-microscope stares.
But the absolute best part of the dream was that my dad was there with us. I snuggled close to him, his arm hugged my shoulder, and he looked at me with love in his eyes.
And then, my alarm went off and I woke up. Outside, the rain was pouring and a nearby lightning strike lit my room like a camera flash.
I grabbed my 500-page journal where I write down words I’ve never heard before along with their definitions, lists of all sorts of things, and my wishes that never seem to come true. I read the first wish I’d ever written.
1. I Wish My Dad Was Alive Instead of Dead.
Somehow, my wish had found its way into my dream.
I flipped to some blank pages at the back, started a new section called Dreams I Always Want to Remember, and began scribbling down the dream. Suddenly, I stopped writing and thought about the dream at the beach, my dad holding my hand, the smile that was in his eyes. Father’s Day, a day I sometimes wish didn’t exist, was coming up. I could feel my dream happiness vanish and the sadness coming, and even though I tried hard not to let them, all at once the gloomy clouds from outside got sucked in through my ears and invaded my brain. Did you know violets actually shrink? They do, and I did.
2
A PREDICTABLE SUMMER OF BORING NOTHING
Tomorrow was the last day of school before summer vacation, but my best friend, Athena, was leaving tonight for Greece, where her grandparents live in a house that overlooks the beach. Lucky for her but unlucky for me because it meant I’d have a whole summer without my best friend. It was no secret that I wished I was going with her.
A dead and dull summertime awaits me.
Lately, I’d been imagining all of the boring nothing I was going to fill the summer with. If boredom was something you eat, I wondered, what would it taste like? Maybe like chicken broth when you’re sick, mashed potatoes without gravy, or macaroni minus the cheese.
The sky was blue and it was a little hot except under the shade of trees. “My mom said I could have a cat this morning,” I told Athena as we strolled along home from school.
Athena smiled. “She finally said yes?”
“Yep. She must have gotten tired of me begging all the time. She’s going to take me to the shelter.”
“A recycled pet?” Athena smiled again. There is one thing Athena Starros is full of—smiles.
I nodded. “We might go this weekend.”
Athena flipped h
er long, straight, light brown hair. “My cousin had a cat and once it pooped in her bed. She forgot to make her bed one day, and that night, when she climbed into bed, she got cat poop all over her. Gross. Plus they caught the cat eating the Thanksgiving turkey that they’d left on the table after dinner and had to throw it away. Also gross. And then they found it in the crib with her baby brother and her dad decided it had to go.”
“I’m still getting a cat, Athena.”
“Just saying. Pets are a lot of work.” Another thing Athena is full of—advice.
“Some pets,” I corrected her.
“They should have a place where you could rent a pet for maybe a week, and if you like it you can keep it, but if you don’t you can bring it back.” Sometimes Athena talks too much and this was definitely one of those times. “Plus cats are boring, don’t you think?” she added.
“Yep, usually they’re quiet.” I stopped walking and put my finger to my mouth as if to say shhh.
Athena got the hint and changed the subject. “We might go to Italy for a week. My grandma wants me to see Rome.”
“Yay! Athena goes to Rome. I’ll be thinking about that while I’m in my room with my boring cat and stinky litter box all summer.”
Athena made a sad face. “Sorry . . . Wish you could come, too, V.”
Because I knew she meant it, I smiled. But in my mind, I daydreamed that I was going with her. Then, I silently wished I had grandparents who lived far away and wanted me to come for a long visit. All I have are Gam and Poppy, who live right around the corner.
My thoughts must have shown on my face, because Athena blurted, “Would you stop the sad looks? I’ll keep in touch. Plus, it’s not like you’re friendless . . . you still have Yaz,” she reminded me.
Yaz, short for Yazmine, is my kinda-sorta-good friend, a girl who doesn’t go to school with us but who I know from the ice skating rink. For Yaz Kilroy, ice skating is everything.
“But she hardly ever does regular stuff like us, only skating,” I said.
Athena agreed, “Yeah, I know.”
A little silence followed.
“You’re flying all the way by yourself, huh?”
Athena put out her hand and shook it nervously. “For the first time.”
In minutes, we reached her house, which is right down the street from mine.
“You gotta send me a gazillion postcards like you said. And if you meet a cute boy, promise not to forget about me like Daisy.” Since my sister, Daisy, got her new boyfriend, Wyatt, it seemed like she barely had time for me anymore. Another reason I could safely predict this was going to be a summer of boring nothing.
“I won’t,” Athena promised, and we stared at each other for what seemed like a long time until tears got in our eyes.
Finally, Athena gave me a big bright grin and hugged me tight.
I smiled what Poppy calls a counterfeit smile, daydreamed once more that I was going with her, said good-bye, and headed home.
If boredom was like macaroni without cheese, what I felt right then was worse. Lemonade without sugar, soda without the fizz. Pitiful.
3
SOMETIMES I WISH
With Athena gone, I was walking home alone from my last day of elementary school when just like that, dark gray clouds that mean it’s going to rain for certain gathered and turned the almost-summer air cold. I didn’t have my umbrella and wasn’t even wearing a hoodie. Lucky Violet.
I needed to run fast and that’s exactly what I was about to do when I heard what sounded like crying, so I stopped and listened. There it was again—not a cry, a cat’s meow. I followed the mews until I found it curled up under a tree in front of a house, a kitten with spotted fur, almost like a leopard. I kneeled down and gently stroked its little head, but the kitten’s eyes were crusted shut and wouldn’t open. I dug through my backpack, found a napkin, dampened it with water from my water bottle, and carefully wiped away the crust. Before long, it opened its eyes, and I smiled because the kitten’s eyes were hazel . . . the same green-blue-brown color eyes as my mom’s and Daisy’s.
“How did you get here?” I asked as I picked it up and cradled it like a baby. I had been wishing for a cat for months. Maybe we wouldn’t have to get one from the shelter after all. Was it possible that one of my wishes was finally coming true? I smiled inside and out.
The kitten opened its mouth wide and let out a really loud “Meow!”
“You sure are a loud mouth.”
Again, “Meow!” This time louder and longer.
“A really loud mouth,” I proclaimed.
The sound of a door opening made me turn toward the house I was standing in front of. An old lady peeked out. “What you got there, Curly?” she asked.
My hair is long and—guess what—curly. No, not just curly—corkscrew curly. And if one more person calls me Curly, I’m going to scream.
“A kitten,” I replied.
“That so?” the woman said as she came outside and hobbled with a cane down her walkway toward me. Her short hair was snow white and her skin so wrinkly, it looked like someone had ironed creases in it.
Please don’t let the kitten belong to her.
She stared at the kitten for a while, then stroked its spotted fur. “Where do you suppose it came from?”
I sighed. “It’s not yours?”
“No, not mine.” She grinned at the kitten, then at me. “Looks hungry, though. Maybe needs some milk.” She began walking back to her door. “C’mon, Curly.”
“My name’s Violet, not Curly,” I informed her as I grabbed my backpack and trailed her to the door.
“Well, c’mon, Vi,” she said.
“It’s not Vi, either, just Violet, or call me V. That’s what most people call me.”
“I like Violet better,” the old lady commented as she reached to open the screen door.
“That’s how it is these days, kind of. I mean, lots of people call other people by the first initial of their name. Like, instead of calling my sister Daisy, I call her D.”
“Violet and Daisy? Your parents must have a penchant for flowers.”
Penchant? I’d have to add that to my book of words I’d never heard before. “What’s a penchant?”
“Means ‘a strong liking for something.’” She paused. “But violet’s also a color . . . reddish blue.”
“It’s also the name for a small butterfly that belongs to the family Lycaenidae.” I love telling people that because it usually makes them think I’m incredibly smart. I could tell by the look in her eyes that this lady was instantly added to my list of people who think Violet Diamond is incredibly smart.
“Really? I didn’t know that. So you’re an entomologist.”
“A person who studies insects? Nope . . . I seriously hate bugs. Seriously.”
Her face crinkled into a smile. “Me too,” she agreed as she motioned me inside. “Wipe your feet.”
The old lady seemed pretty normal, but no way was I going inside a stranger’s house. “I’ll wait here,” I told her.
“Okay, Violet . . . or V.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Georgina,” she replied.
“So, I might just call you G. Get it?”
She grinned and her eyes, which were as blue as Gam’s, sparkled. “Got it,” she replied, stepping inside the house.
Before long, she came back with a small bowl of milk, but her hands were pretty shaky and some of it spilled as she set it down. “Getting old.”
I put the kitten down and nudged it close to the bowl. Quickly, it lapped the milk, and when it seemed like it was full, the spotted kitty sat back and let out another extremely loud meow.
“Loud mouth,” I said.
“So you could name it LM for Loud Mouth,” G suggested.
I hadn’t even thought about a
name. “LM? It’s not really a cat name,” I said, then asked, “So you think I should keep it? I mean, do you think it belongs to someone around here?”
“So many strays around here, it’s a crime. Save me from having to call Animal Control one more time. Yes, V, I definitely think you should keep it, if it’s okay with your parents.”
“It’s just my mom.”
“Oh,” G said with a sad voice, the way some grown-ups do when I tell them that “it’s just my mom.”
When G opened her mouth to talk again, I figured here come the questions. Not today, I thought. May as well tell her. “My dad is dead.” G’s eyes looked the way my insides suddenly felt, sad. “But I have a really nice grandpa,” I added. The old lady’s eyes turned happy. That should be the end of that, I hoped.
It was, because G sighed, “That’s nice.”
Right then thunder clapped. Before long, it was going to pour.
Georgina gazed up. “You hurry home now, V,” she ordered.
I scooped up the kitten and was busy thanking G for the milk when humungous drops of rain began polka-dotting the street, sidewalk, and walkway. It was only three blocks to my house, but still, no matter how fast I ran, I was bound to get soaked.
Just as I prepared to bolt, Georgina asked, “Don’t you have an umbrella?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Wait here. I have extras.”
Around here, most people have more than one umbrella. My grandpa claims that in our town, Moon Lake, Washington, umbrellas are big business. Moon Lake is not too far from Seattle. In Moon Lake, it rains—a lot.
While G was inside, I carefully placed the kitten in my backpack. “We’ll be home soon,” I said. Another very loud meow.
“Thank you,” I told the lady when she handed me the umbrella. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow . . . I promise.”
“Keep it. I have a grand collection.”
I thanked her again, opened the umbrella, clutched the backpack to my chest with one arm, and took off.